Dawn Will Break The Silence
by arctique48
Summary: Healer O'Brien thought she'd seen everything, but in the black rain of August a hollow eyed girl proved her wrong. “It’s like I always thought he’d be, pure white on the outside but he’s bleeding black. Rotten to the core…'
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc. belongs to JKR.**

* * *

"_In our mutual  
__Shame we idolise  
__To blind them from the truth  
__That finds a way from who we are.  
__Please don't be afraid  
__When the darkness fades away  
__The dawn will break the silence  
__Screaming in our hearts.  
__My love for you still grows  
__This I do for you  
__Before I try to fight the truth my final time."_

Evanescence – Understanding.

* * *

Healer O'Brien has seen a lot of things in her working life. A lot of sad things. 

She's seen parents forget the existence of their children, little girls with every inch of flesh shredded, men with the intestines of a cow. She's seen people who've had their eyes gouged out and replaced with nests maggots or fire ants, boys with their bones re-grown in all the wrong places. She's seen some of the worst cases of magical maladies, both accidental and intended to torture, and yet she still claims that the most horrific injuries you will ever see in St Mungo's are the non-magical ones. The ones caused by magic but not directly, the maladies of the mind and spirit.

"_Make it go away! Make him _leave_!" A child, a girl, eleven or twelve years old, screaming and screaming, convinced she's haunted by the ghost of her rapist. She says she alone can hear him, she alone can feel and see him. "_Noooo_!"_

So alone, so utterly isolated, her heart breaks every time. All the blood and screaming pain in the world will not rid her of the nightmares with hollow hurt-filled eyes. No one understands and she watches them tear their world apart, trying so hard to make her _see_. And she does. She sees but she cannot comprehend. Years of Healer training and there are still so many people she cannot save.

_That little girl bled herself to death. She tried to scratch the pain away with nothing but her nails, sobbing, gasping and choking she drained away her pain with her blood. She died with a smile upon her face, naked and scarred and yet somehow free of pain._

In almost thirty years of work within the hospital she has seen a great many terrible things pass through these walls. With the rise of the First War she dealt with everything the Dark Arts could throw at her, some of the most horrific injuries floated in and she healed whatever she could, muggle or magical, Death Eaters and Aurors alike.

She was the healer who ordered Mad-Eye Moody his magical eye; she was one of the first people to see Frank and Alice Longbottom when they were discovered; she treated James Potter, healing war wounds while he chattered animatedly about his beautiful baby boy. Now years have passed but the war is a different one while she heals their children. Harry Potter, with his father's hair and mother's eyes, is silent as she dresses his wounds. (In some ways he's lost more than his father ever could.)

Surprisingly, the first fall of You-Know-Who saw a huge boom in patients at the hospital. Perhaps not entirely expected it still made sense. Wizarding England was on a high point, keeping healthy was key and the newfound positive attitude seemed to birth a legion of hypochondriacs. In another age it may have been irritating, but after eleven years of spurting blood and gaping wounds a few wizards wide eyed with concern over some mild rash was almost refreshing. The desk in her office was neat and orderly with a bright bunch of everlasting sunflowers (without Voldemort it felt as though an eternal summer had been unleashed, bright colours and loud noises was what made wizarding London what it was). Neville Longbottom still visited his parents but he brought colourful boquetsand the sun was high outside the window. He was still a victim but as he told them of the friends he made at his first year of Hogwarts Alice almost smiled, as though she recognised her son. Sights like that makes the years of pain seem almost worth it.

Like so many people in the country, when the rise of Voldemort was announced for the second time she wept, knowing what would be to come. New recruits were in their hundreds but so many dropped out when they saw the reality of what they were fighting. She missed the funeral of her neighbour because she was replacing a boy's heart (his previous one had been cursed with something once used for dieting, it ate away at the muscle until he went into arrest).

It was after almost two years of the second war that she saw the pair that broke her heart.

It had nothing to do with any love of her own, her husband, a bookkeeper for a quaint stationary shop, was as faithful and alive as ever. No. What hurt her so deeply was something many newspapers would have died in order to report. It was something that would have Harry Potter himself gaping in dismayed shock.

* * *

"Marianne?" 

The window had been open wide, mid August and rain was pouring down in black torrents you'd associate with tropical monsoons. It was ridiculous. _Who had left the window open? …But then, when was the last time it had rained like this is August?_

"Marianne!"

A woman sat at a desk, glowering silently over a vase of very dead sunflowers, at the supposed British summertime out of the window. Her greying brown hair pulled into a low bun and with one hand she pushed her glasses back up her nose.

"Healer O'Brien? Are you even listening?"

The woman's head snapped up. "Harriet?" A sideways glance at the window, "Sorry, I was distracted."

"It's okay." Commented the younger healer obediently. "There's just something I think you should see to in bed fourteen."

The older woman nodded. "I'll be right out." She muttered, lifting her wand to slam shut the window.

She'd wandered from her office, smiling politely at a pot-faced auror who sat brooding in a corner, waiting to be released. The ward was relatively quiet, the young boy who'd come in possessed by demons earlier today had been stunned and strapped down (both magically and manually) while they waited for the resident exorcist to finish with an old witch on ward eighteen. This level of the building (seventh floor, positioned precisely in the construction of the building, four hundred years ago, to have maximum effect in combating the effects of the Dark Arts) was the headquarters for all Dark related injuries and ward thirteen (watched over by Healer O'Brien) was for the direst cases of them all.

The area surrounding bed fourteen had been curtained off, generally never the best sign. Calling to the healer who had alerted her of the new arrival, Healer O'Brien requested details of the patient.

"I don't know much, Ma'am," she apologised, "Martin was the one to let them in, you see, but he's been called downstairs."

"What do you know?"

"Well, from what I've seen, they're just kids. We've got Alicia doing an identity check at the moment, should have the names for you in a few minutes. But I recognise the girl though I'm not sure where from… The boy's pretty beaten up. She carried him all the way to the hospital and when she couldn't get him any further she called for help,only she refused to let go of his hand. I think she was hit by a confundus or something but we haven't had time to check, all she's been saying is "I hate him, I hate him," over and over again. You'd think she was talking about the boy were it not for the fact she was clinging to him like a lifeline."

"Have you checked for any binding spells, anything that could have had her bound to him?"

"There are none. She's got no lingering curses on her, though it's pretty obvious she's been in a fight. Can't say the same for the boy though, he's been to hell and back. We think he died earlier this hour; he's obviously been shocked back to life. Reckon it was her that brought him back, but it's anyone's guess as to why."

Nodding, O'Brien rounded the screen set up by the bed to meet the strangest sight.

A girl, no older than seventeen sat perched on the edge of the bedside chair, hair stuck out of her tight plait at odd angles while a bloodied gash ran the entire length of her face, from the bridge of her nose to her collarbone. Her appearance would have been entirely un-alarming in this ward were it not for the fact she wore the ragged robes of Dumbledore's Order, something many would have passed off as legend since the death of the great wizard. She hadn't noticed the two healers entering and was whispering imploringly to her unlikely companion who lay on the bed not quite conscious.

As unexpected as the sight of the girl was, the boy's appearance had Marianne O'Brien's heart in her mouth. His skin was several shades too pale to ever be considered living, his hair was silver blond beneath a thick layer of clotted blood from a serious head wound that had been very shoddily patched up, but the most disturbing thing was his clothing. There was no doubt about it, the boy that girl from the Order of the Phoenix was clinging to was a Death Eater, dressed from head to foot in the black robes of Voldemort's cult.

The two healers watched silently as the girl pushed back a lock of blond hair, whispering soothingly to the boy. His grey eyes regarded her blankly.

"Excuse me, Miss." Marianne began, touching the girl's shoulder lightly.

She looked up, dark brown eyes wide and bright. "You have to save him." She whispered, voice soft and cracking.

Marianne nodded. "We'll do everything within our power, dear, but first I'm going to have to ask you to step outside with Healer Taylor, here, so you can get yourself patched up. I'm going to look him over, okay?"

She nodded mutely, turning back to the boy on the bed. "I'm sorry." Her voice sounded so broken the hair on Marianne's neck stood on end. Letting go of his hand she followed Harriet out of the screen.

With a soft sigh the healer returned her gaze to the patient. Drawing her wand she slit open his robes to get easy access to his chest.

He really was messed up; his body had been mutilated almost beyond recognition. It took her almost a whole minute to clear the dried blood away from his wounds, revealing a black, oozing gash across his abdomen which would have looked as though it had been inflicted with a sword were it not for the angry tar-like substance that clung to it, eating away at his flesh. Running trained fingers along the edge of the cut she felt the heat of deadly dark magic, a poison so strong it was a miracle he'd managed to get as far as the hospital alive.

"Healer O'Brien?"

She looked up with cheerless eyes to see Harriet gazing in horror at the boy.

"He's going to die, isn't he?" She whispered, voice almost too low to be heard.

Marianne looked back down. "I'll need you to summon Rafael and Dmitri, I think they're at lunch at the moment but this is urgent." She said clearly, referring to the only two curse breakers in the hospital.

"Ma'am, do you think that will do any good at all?"

"Just do it, Harriet!" She snapped.

A heavy sigh and she focused her energy on healing his head, the cut ran the entire length of his hairline and she was horrified to see that although someone (presumably the Order girl he was bought in with) had roughly healed it to little more than a fracture, the wound had gone straight through the bone of his skull, exposing his brain.

"He said it was his punishment." Said a quiet voice behind her. Alarmed she looked up to see the girl watching with a dark expression on her freshly healed face. "He said they would not ever let him rest." Her face was deadly white with the single line of a newly formed pink scar running over her left eye.

Trying to ignore the girl with her haunting voice and haunted eyes, Marianne went back to clearing away the blood and attempting to quell the starts of an infection.

"He saved my life." Her hollow voice washed over the healer as though she had walked straight through a ghost. "I owe him everything."

Tensing and trying to focus, moving down to the naturally healing broken ribs, there was evidence that a lung had been punctured but it seemed that someone had healed it relatively quickly. There was no lasting damage and little internal bleeding so all she needed to do was heal the bruising and set the bones properly. The colouring faded to white and she moved on.

"He's a traitor, you know. They tortured him like they tortured me. Over and over because he wasn't worth his name or his blood."

She hissed as her wand slipped, dragging the slash over his heart further open when she'd been trying to get it closed. Closing her eyes she tried to focus on stopping her hands from shaking… There was just something about the voice and the almost-presence over her shoulder that chilled her bones to the very marrow. Whatever these children had been through together it had very nearly destroyed them… and she wasn't certain they were altogether lucky to be alive.

"Miss, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step outside until I'm finished."

The girl didn't seem to hear her, eyes wide and empty she clutched at her right arm slowly rubbing a though trying to return circulation. "They said his wasn't worthy of his blood and they bled him. They took four pints at once and made me drink it." Tears spilled over but her voice didn't change. "It tasted sweet. Like molten metal." Then, pitch rising it almost cracked. "It was so warm and he was so cold. They made me drink it all."

Dark eyes spilling crystal tears over a porcelain face. "They threw him in my cell. 'Filthy traitor to play with the filthy Mudblood,' they said. He'll hate me now. I saved his life, but it's tainted him, or he'll think so. I gave him my blood. Half of what he lost. I felt so weak… but his body didn't reject it so that has to say something… It means nothing. Blood means nothing because he's bleeding mine right now and he's no less human than he was before. No less human…" Hugging herself she whispered, "No less human… "

Marianne looked back down, wet eyes seeing nothing of the boy but a black and white blur.

Over her shoulder the girl laughed. "It's like I always thought he'd be," her voice was almost curious, morbid fascination with lingering disgust and repulsion. "Pure white on the outside, but he's bleeding black. Rotten to the core… I hate him. I hate him so much."

Trembling the healer reached out to brush away his hair from closed eyes.

"_He's rotten to the core."_

"You said he saved you. You said that I had to save him…" Her own voice was foreign in her ears.

"No! He can't die!" Horror and madness and fear and hopelessness. Desperation in every syllable.

"He's not going to die." Automatic response, so untrue. Her hands shook.

With a violent shock she felt warm fingers on her wrists, guiding her away from the bed.

"We'll finish up here," said a warm voice in her ear, Raphael released her hands and nodded to the girl. "Go and get her something to drink… You look like you've seen a dementor."

Nodding quietly she moved towards the girl. "Would you like me to get you some tea? Or do you have anyone you want us to contact?"

The girl shook her head. "They think I've died."

Her eyes widened in surprise, "Who thinks your dead?"

"Harry and Ron and everyone." She nodded to the boy. "He showed me pictures of my funeral. Ginny made a beautiful speech."

"Harry Potter and Ron Weasley?" The healer asked in shock. Pieces clicking together in her mind, dark haired girl of the Order ('_Filthy traitor to play with the filthy Mudblood,' they said_), muggleborn who was killed by Death Eaters. Friend of the famous Harry Potter…

"Healer O'Brien." It was Alicia. She looked as stunned and Marianne felt. "I've found their names… You're not going to believe this."

Almost dazed she went to stand behind the younger witch.

"Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. They're the only matches… But she died last year… Her funeral – it was in the papers."

They turned to the girl. "What's your name?" Alicia asked.

"Hermione."

Wide horrified eyes. "No…" Marianne felt sick. She stepped back.

"My name is Hermione."

"No!" firmer and sharper. "Hermione Granger died. She was killed by Death Eaters last year…" she shook her head. "We had her body here for a post-mortem! I _saw_ her in the morgue!"

"Yes." Said a haunted voice. "Hermione Granger died." The healers exchanged appalled looks. "They killed me," the girl whimpered, pale fingers clutching thin pale arms. "Again and again they killed me." Rocking back and forwards on the balls of her feet. "But he rescued me." Sweet abhorrence rank in her voice. Madness. She loved and hated him in the extreme. "He saved me and you have to save him… or I'll be left all alone." She choked on a sob. "He understands…" Shoulders shaking. "I don't want to die alone… Don't let me die alone… Don't let him die. He can't die…"

Aghast she looked to Alicia. "Is there any possibility…"

"No. It's an exact DNA match. Hermione Granger is alive."

"But… Someone will have to tell Harry Potter." Hushed voice. Guilty secret.

"You can't! That's breaking the code… You know he's been looking to catch Malfoy since the day Hogwarts closed!"

"But Hermione Granger…"

"He'll find out soon enough."

Outside the rain pounded down. Warped drumbeat. Confusion masked with blanket grey. The girl stood by the window, pale arms wrapped tightly around her thin body.

"She's lost her mind…"

"They've broken her."

"_Don't let me die alone."

* * *

_

**AN: **Yus… That was odd. Nice combination of Donnie Darko, Holby City and an ancient Evanescence album. The joy. She wasn't supposed to turn out all mad, I'd intended to give it a nice pleasant ending with everyone being alive and happy, but half way through their conversation I realised Hermione had gone insane. And the idea intrigued me so I carried on. I was considering writing the bit that came before this, what happened to Draco and Hermione etc. from one or both points of view. What do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc. belongs to JKR.

* * *

**

_I can't remember anything,  
Can't tell if this is true or dream,  
Deep down inside I feel to scream,  
This terrible silence stops me._

Metallica - One

* * *

_Where are you? Where is this place? Kind faces, confusion and disgust ... You're filth. A shame on the magic in your veins. You fear them ... Kind faces, they'll save him …. Where is he! He's always here! … Not alone, never alone. The dark and the pain with no one but your mind and their taunts, you were better off dead… Save me…. He alone would hear you weep and mourn, he alone knew the girl behind the screams and pain. Because there is a girl, a human being, alive and worthy as they are. More so. Only not, because you are what they made you. You are afraid… Before him there was no one, not even yourself to share the pain. But he came, He came and shared the burden, shared your pain… He freed you from the entrapments of your own mind, the very chains they convinced you to lock…. He gave you your past…. They've forgotten you. Friends and family. They mourned and wept and you've been avenged but never rescued… Again and again they killed you…. They did everything they thought they could, and yet they did not doubt enough. The rationality of your friends became your downfall. Alone in the dark (before him and his light and understanding)…. Make it go away…. Fighting the evil in your very mind, he freed you and you will free him. He will see daylight again. They have forgotten you but he did not, and for that you will save him (even as he kills you, destroys you as they did) (spirit broken). You gave the blood he scorned and so made him live, you picked the lock with his knife (muggle and primitive) and gave him freedom… And you won't let go ('cause you can't be all alone). Not now. Not ever. (Only he can save you.)…. Scars won't ever fade and you watch the blood seep into his veins, (lesser magic) (empty hope)… Somebody please, help me… But not yet. _

"Hermione?"

_Kind faces and empty smiles. They're scared of you. _"Yes."

"I'm going to have to ask you to come this way… There are a number of tests you're going to have to undergo, just to ensure you're healthy, that there's no lasting damage."

_Tests. A jolt of agony like electricity from the mains, life flashing and laughter falling like rain (drizzling into ears and heart like a damp sponge) (ready to be squeezed). They took your blood and your magic and your very soul (though not whole. Dementors are more merciful than they're given credit). No lasting damage? Scarred. There's nothing left. (Nothing left but him.)_

"Draco will still be here when you come back."

"I know."

_The Healer doesn't trust you. She watches and waits, fearing and plotting and certain you're ready to spring. Feral. She doubts your humanity. _

"Here, come on in… That's right, take a seat."

_She's uncertain, as though you're crazy, like she expects you to jump up and try to shoot her down with that dry flower on her desk. You're no more of a danger to her than he is (by association only, they'd kill her to get to him. They would have because he means so much more)._

"Alicia is getting you some hot chocolate."

_She's trying so hard. She's been trained and it's convincing but you can sense her nerves, her pity (and what is more degrading than unwarranted pity (than externally inflicted shame)?). She tries to make you feel at home. Tries to make you think it will all be alright (how can it be?). You think on her words and remember in some far forgotten corner of your mind what it was like to drink hot chocolate. You liked it then and curiosity wonders if you'll like it now. _

"Would you _like_ some hot chocolate?"

_You are not a child._

"Yes. I think so."

_So far from a child. You don't know what you want. _

"Good."

_You used to want the world. To become Prime Minister (but not like Margaret Thatcher) you wanted to be remembered for world peace and a blossoming nation. You wanted everyone to be happy._

"I'm going to have to ask you a few questions first, purely procedure. You're not obligated to answer them all."

_Big dreams for a little girl. _

_Now you feel smaller than you ever did as a child. Realisation of insignificance bought on by… by what? It wasn't them. They tried but at school Draco Malfoy and his taunts were nothing. They tried but their torture just made your will stronger. They tried but it wasn't until Harry cried at your funeral that you felt it break (your resolve) (your strength) (your heart) (mind and soul)._

"What is your blood group?"

"Don't you have it on record?"

A pause. Uncomfortable. "…Your records were… destroyed. When you went…missing."

"Oh."

"Well?" Hopeful. _She expects so little._

"I'm muggleborn."

"Yes, I know, but I still need your blood group."

"Mudblood. Muggle. Whatever you call it these days." Bitterness, chewed on and spat with disgust and resentment that turned the Healer's head. Her eyes show shame.

"No. I mean… A or B, positive or negative, orO or… do you know your blood group?"

_He doesn't. He couldn't or he's think you were better, he'd understand that you're better than the only thing he has left, more than a last resort. He told you you meant nothing because of what flowed in your veins and yet you gave it to him… and he lives. Weak but with a hope of survival. He didn't have that before. He's bleeding your blood and he's still human, still a wizard and still Draco Malfoy. _

"It means nothing. Blood means nothing at all…"

"Miss Granger… I think you've missed my meaning…"

_You don't hear that everyday, "Miss Granger, I think you misunderstood." McGonagall would blink at the very thought. Has that much changed? You used to have that much potential, that much hope for the future… Now you might not even have him._

"No."

"Miss Granger?"

Dark eyes flash with forced down memories, trampled into submission in the hopes of getting out alive. _Shame and fear and pity and horror and disgust and humiliation suffered day in day out forever until it stops and like a dream you have hope. Back to when you thought the war could stop the evil. _

"My. Name. Is._ Hermione!"

* * *

_

She wasn't sure where they'd taken her; it was with dull surprise that Hermione noted she was underground. It reminded her vaguely of one of the underground air raid shelters she'd visited on a school trip back in her muggle primary school… similar to London's Underground train network, domed passages, tiled walls and concrete floors. But this one was bigger. It was bigger and it has huge cages lining the walls.

A quiet sigh and she slid her herself down the bars until she sat with her knees to her chest. There was nothing here to do, the guards were completely shrouded in their Death Eater robes and couldn't talk to each other, let alone her. With no other entertainment she was forced to relive the previous day's 'mission' and it's horrendous failure.

She'd been trying to get to Nagini, perhaps not the wisest idea but with Ron suffering from concussion it was either she went or Harry did, and they only had so much time.

They'd managed to locate the snake, hiding with Voldemort on the fourth floor of the Riddle House. She was the sixth horcrux, the only one left besides Voldemort's living body. They had been so close.

They had all known that there would never be another chance, the moment the snake was targeted Voldemort would _know_ what was going on. There was only one shot and only one spell that could do it. Hermione had done it before, trained for hours by Harry, utterly certain she had what it would take. Nagini had to be killed there and then, impaled or vaporised entirely, and dark magic _would not work._ That was the difficult thing they'd originally found. Destroying the horcurxes was near impossible because so few spells could affect a true portion of soul. Dark magic would be rejected and would most likely alert the remaining pieces of soul of its assault. The spell they finally found, hidden among Dumbledore's memories, involved a mirror, a sprig of thyme, magical flame, purity of heart and an unblemished soul.

She'd had all those things as well as a clear shot at the snake… she'd been so close, crouched in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment, and just as Wormtail left the room-

She shook her head. Her failure was so damn ironic she wanted to cry. It had been a house elf who alerted them of her presence. She'd killed the snake, burnt the very bones to ashes and as she ran for the apparation clear zone they descended on her. And here she was, in a giant monkey cage with nothing to show for her efforts but a dry bit of thyme hanging round her neck.

* * *

Weeks passed and she found herself wondering what was taking Harry and Ron so long. At first she thought it selfish of her. She knew that with Nagini destroyed they had to get to Voldemort before he had time to properly prepare himself for the inevitable showdown, but all the same, she'd assumed that they'd have at least sent in the Order to get her out. 

Her hair was greasy and matted, the very thought of her appearance revolted her. She only got one bowl of water a day, and having once made the mistake of using it all in the morning to clean her face she now realised that it was all she got to drink for twenty-four hours and this far beneath the surface (however far that was) the air was very dry.

Considering the number of Death Eaters she'd come into contact with over the years she was surprised that she recognised none of the band that frequented her new prison. Perhaps it was an arrogant thought but she'd have expected Snape or at the very least Malfoy to pay her a visit, even if just to bait her. It was strange here, she'd been held captive by Death Eaters before and she knew that every minute was spent tormenting prisoners, this time was different. Eerily different.

She hadn't been spoken to since they bought her here, she was beginning to think it was a brand torture in itself because this lack of interaction was making her distinctly uneasy. Her imagination went into overload, terrified of the faces that could lie beneath the masks of her captors, paranoid over what they were bound to be plotting for her in punishment. She couldn't sleep for fear of what was happening to her friends in the oppressive silence that ruled her world.

Every other cage in the long room was empty. The only sound came from her and it echoed, revolving through the tiled tube only to come back to her, warped and slurred, like one-man Chinese Whispers. She tried to sing, desperate for anything that might cheer her up, tried talking to herself, tried to forcibly inject some sense into the situation. Nothing worked. It just echoed forever until it died out leaving her more empty than she'd been to begin with.

She decided the guards must have been under silencing charms because one stubbed his toe and didn't so much as grunt. At first she'd hoped it would be a reassuring thought, but it spiralled out of control until the tiled tunnel became a cell for the cursed. Even they were not themselves, influenced by the magic of others, bowing to a man they had likely never met. The candles would flicker on the walls in their permanent state of darkness, curved surfaces and stuttering flames casting demons of fire and places unknown into her mind. She saw torture in the eyes of shadows that haunted her waking dreams. She didn't sleep anymore.

Whispers clung to rogue breezes that drifted past her form, stirring her hair and jump-starting her imagination. She heard screams. Her own, her friends. She saw them cower and run and she saw them die. Clutching at bleeding arms she lashed out with her feet, dark figures surrounding her, their breath on her neck. Her breathing ragged she fought and fought but they wouldn't leave, pounding in her brain, pain ricocheting through limbs while blood dripped from animal-like claws. Scars so deep they'll never heal. Her mind was bending and twisting while all the while she fell, clinging to the bars of her cage (not a cell – it was a cage, build for a beast and for her as her blood fell to the floor like mud to be trampled in). No one spoke a word but she screamed in the silence and felt she would fall forever.

An eternity of frenzied whispers and He came. He came with faces she recognised but couldn't place, all shrouded in shadows with wands and hate. _Crucio_. He whispered and they had laughed. She hadn't laughed. She didn't think she'd ever laugh again, screaming and screaming while her throat bled and her body shook.

He'd taken her face in his hand, red eyes burning hellfire into her soul, he'd whispered her death so softly in her ear and she'd wept. It had hurt so much. He spoke of magical breakthroughs… of resurrecting the soul, of regeneration and spiritual transplants. He'd said it was all her fault and she was going to make it better. She didn't know what she'd said, but it made him laugh.

The voices on the phantom breeze would talk to her, they spoke of him and she knew he was right. She knew she was nothing and the thought made her cry. The guards remained silent and the tiled walls flickered red. The Dark Lord didn't come again but the fear kept her awake, an insomniac living a nightmare. She didn't know how it could ever stop.

* * *

Apprentice-Healer Alicia Matthews was walking down the stairs to the ground floor of the building. Her heart was pounding. 

Things like this did _not_ happen everyday.

That girl, Hermione Granger, had been on the missing persons list in every country in Europe… Her body had been found in a canal and bought to St Mungo's for identification and post-mortem almost a full year ago. It just didn't make any sense.

She remembered the news of the death well, she'd been in a training college in London at the time and Harry Potter had had a rally in Diagon Alley, trying to gather support to avenge his friend. She remembered standing uneasily in a crowd of nervous witches and wizards as their saviour and unofficial leader stood at the top of Gringotts steps, asking for their support. He told them what he'd lost and how he would die if it meant others would not be put through the same suffering he had felt. He was a brave boy, a few years younger than her, she even remembers how he had played seeker for Gryffindor; she'd watched from the Ravenclaw stands with little interest. She hadn't realised quite how much he would mean.

Dazed with dull shock she entered the main lobby, looking around at worried faces and strangely coloured smoke. It looked so different down here. So full of life in comparison to Ward Thirteen.

She stepped forward, aiming to get some hot chocolate for the girl, as instructed by Marianne O'Brien, but as she stared at the floor, recalling the previous events of the day, she walked straight into someone.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry, sir, I wasn't looking-"

"No, really, I wasn't paying attention, it was my fault-"

She looked up, fully intending to repeat her apologies, insisting that it was indeed _her_ fault, but when her eyes met his face her breath hitched.

"_Harry Potter_?" Dull panic coursing through her nerves.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing here?"

He frowned, the nurse was staring at him with huge, dark, scared eyes.

"Picking up my prescription… Why? Is something wrong?"

"No! No nothing at all. Nothing out of the ordinary… Well that of course depends on what you class as ordinary, but nothing _wrong _per sae. We're all good. You?"

"Erm. Right, I'm fine thank you."

"Excellent. Well, I best be off." A huge false grin, all chummy and immediately suspicious.

"Okay then. I'll see you later…"

The smile faltered and almost under her breath he heard, "Yes, I suppose you probably will."

She near enough bolted through the lobby door leaving a very confused young man looking after her. _Another stalker? Ginny had said something about that…_

"Number 1273992." Called a witch's voice over his shoulder. Glancing down at his small parchment ticket he stepped up to the desk.

"Ah. Harry Potter. Good day? If you'll just sign here, and here, yes that's right. I'll just go get your prescription."

One last confused glance behind him in the direction of the nurse, Harry picked up the quill.

* * *

**AN:** Meh. School is so evil. I am so tired. I would quite happily lie down and sleep forever were it not the fact I have ten tonnes of homework and it hasn't even been a full week yet. Oh woe. On a more productive note: what dost thou think? 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc belongs to JKR.**

* * *

"_Look in the doubt we've wallowed  
Look at the leaders we've followed  
Look at the lies we've swallowed  
And I don't want to hear no more"_

Guns 'N Roses – Civil War

* * *

Raphael sighed. 

With another glance at the boy he unrolled his bag of tools on thin air at the foot of the bed. This was going to take a while.

He wasn't to be mistaken as a healer. He had not set foot in so much as a first aid class since the day he was born and, as it stood, he did not intend to. No, Raphael was of another stock entirely. Son of an insane catholic nun raped by a powerful warlock some time during the Grindewald War, he had been brought up an illegitimate heir to a dwindling fortune. He'd attended Drumstrang nearly half a century ago (though he looked no older than twenty-seven) and a few decades on he had discovered he had quite a knack for unravelling magical puzzles, so to speak. He enrolled as a curse breaker and had been doing his job exceedingly well in St Mungo's for seventeen years now, but it took no more than a glance to tell him he was going to have his work cut out with this one.

"Quartz scalpel," he mumbled to himself, scanning rows of neatly aligned and razor sharp implements, drumming his fingers on the nearest bedpost. "Quartz, quartz, quartz."

His patient stirred vaguely, eying him with blank grey eyes.

"So, one of Who-Know-Who's lot, eh?" the mage offered conversationally, a flick of the wrist having the boy's details line up on neatly written parchments in the air before him. "Malfoy, is it? They don't seem to know much about you."

The boy blinked owlishly. The parchments returned themselves to their folder.

"Interesting bunch of scars you've got here," he commented, prodding the black oozing one with his wand. It bubbled angrily. "Give me a few secs and I'll get rid of that," he gestured vaguely, "Just gotta find that quartz… ah. Here it is. Hold still. You won't feel a thing."

At the other side of the ward Harriet spun around, the enraged, pained scream echoing off the walls.

"Sorry 'bout that," Raphael apologised, wiping the blade clean. The oozing had subsided. "I'll go fetch you some morphine or something later." He found talking made his job far easier.

* * *

It was almost dark. 

The rain had subsided and a strange fog had drifted in off the Thames, giving the city a sinister, Dickensian feel in the twilight.

Healer O'Brien glared out of the window.

It just didn't make sense. The girl had fallen asleep eventually, having drained her drugged hot chocolate, and she now sat shivering in the corner of the blue armchair, occasionally mumbling the boy's name with a pained expression on her scarred face. It was supposed to be a _dreamless_ sleep.

There was no doubting her identity anymore; everyone recognised her. The ward had always been notoriously difficult to gain entry to, guarded by a myriad of spells, but now the security was even tighter. Not even staff could get in without the direct consent of Healer O'Brien in fear that somehow news of their two most recent patients would get out.

At that thought Marianne dropped her head into her hands. At some point someone was going to have to let the Ministry know, even if it was just to get backup to cordon off the ward. And if the Ministry knew then Harry Potter would know. And that wasn't something she wanted to have to deal with at the moment.

She knew the boy (it was so difficult to think of any of them as more than children) vaguely, having been on call during many of the battles he'd ploughed through. She'd healed him as she healed everyone, without discrimination. He was hailed as their saviour and it was so, so strange, because he really was so _nice_ and normal when you talked to him.

She'd been the one to tell him the first time round.

When Hermione Granger's body was brought in she had had to stand and watch Ron Weasley punch through an inch of solid oak, watch him shatter into a thousand pieces before dragging himself back together to be there for his friend. And it was so strange. Because Harry Potter took it all with a blank face and polite thank you's for 'everything they'd done'. He even tried to smile and left as though he'd dealt with it fully, back straight and eyes dry, and that absence of a reaction scared her more than any fits of misery.

She stood up from her chair. She wasn't sure she was ready to go through that again, the boy had been through so much the thought of crushing what little he'd built up was devastating. Something would have to be done, but right now it could wait until morning. She had to go and check on Raphael anyway.

She found him a few minutes later, right where she'd left him, at Malfoy's bedside. The mage stood chewing his lip, concentration etched on his features.

Healer O'Brien's eyes widened when she saw the boy. He had been stripped down to his underwear and almost every inch of flesh was glowing with angular runes.

"Ah, Marianne. I was just about to call for you," said Rafael, looking up, "I need some phoenix tears and a bit of powdered mandrake." That said he seemed to fall back into the strange trance he had been in on her entry. She'd never understood this curse breaking business, but everyone insisted that Raphael was the best there was, even Dmitri, his unwilling partner, so who was she to argue.

She sent Harriet off to get the items.

"What are you doing, Raphael?"

The man blinked, he wasn't used to being questioned. But then again, he reasoned, he'd known Marianne a long time. "Trying to instigate a link," He answered, "I can't repair any more until I know what caused them."

"Legilimency?"

He paused, "As such. Only he'd need to be conscious for that. It overlaps a bit into necromancy." At her widened eyes he hurried on to explain, "Like how you can draw out the last spell from a wand, there are ways to draw out the last memory from a corpse. Only he's not a corpse, so I should be able to go back a few days, maybe even weeks. Mental probing, more difficult to block than legilimency, I did try that but the dark magic in the wounds disturbed the spells. The only reason this method is working at all is that his aura's practically given up."

"It's faded?" she asked, alarmed.

He nodded. "Nearly all of it."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"How's the girl?" he asked eventually.

"Dreamless sleep."

"Ah."

There was another silence.

"Well, I best be getting on," he said, nodding to the prone figure on the bed. "Those curses don't break themselves."

Marianne smiled tiredly. "Yeah, I'll see you later, shout if you need anything."

"Will do."

She sighed a heavy sigh. Behind the curtain there was a scream. She heard Raphael swear.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Draco didn't know where he was. It felt as though he was floating on some form as black fog, there were voices but he couldn't understand what they were saying and he didn't think they were talking to him. His eyes were open and he could see people come and go. But there was no recognition. It was all very strange. 

He'd thought he was in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. He really, really had. He'd woken up, seen a familiar face (for his life he could not remember who), his ribs had ached and the sheets were white. There had been the sound of rain outside and a middle-aged woman with a wand leaning over him. He had hurt a bit less after that.

However, despite the fact he hadn't remembered fully, he was certain that this couldn't be Hogwarts. Thoughts trickled back but they were jumbled and he kept seeing the same face over and over again. _Mudblood_ his mind hissed and he couldn't remember why.

Hogwarts was closed. And it was his fault.

He blinked slowly.

And then it came back. Two years swimming suddenly into focus as the man hovering in foreground mumbled words in Latin.

Draco screamed.

* * *

He hadn't been sure what made him do it. 

He'd been in hiding for months and months, living behind a mask and running from the only people who could _help_ him. Snape had run with him but it never felt right. _This wasn't him_. He should have been back in the Manor, or back at Hogwarts, well dressed, well fed, _respected_. Instead he was living from day to day in the back rooms of whatever allies Snape made contact with first.

He hadn't had a real shower for days. He stank. He hair was filthy and greasy and the layer of grime coating his skin bothered him greatly. He felt like a medieval peasant. It was disgusting.

They'd returned to London in the autumn and remained hiding until Christmas. He didn't even know if his mother was still alive. He was scared.

They lay low until reports spread that they'd died. And then they returned to service. And that was worse than any length of time living in squalor without hot water.

The fear returned tenfold, his wand was tainted with spells he'd wanted to cast all his life, but now the reality was almost too much for him. The words bought bile to his throat and the falling bodies made him wish he was able to cry in peace. There was only one thing he could find left to be thankful for and that was that Harry Potter had not been sighted since the closing of Hogwarts.

He'd admit it now. He was utterly terrified of the thought of the-Boy-Who-Lived. He had nightmares. He had day-mares. He had visions of his own death spelled out as _justice_ and _retribution_ and other painful words that no longer seemed able to relate to mercy. He'd pushed the Gryffindor too far for that. And he knew it.

The war had become a War, with prisoners and political speeches and corpses in the gutter. It wasn't right but there was no other option. Spring came and went and then there was news in the Death Eaters that someone was targeting something that worried the Dark Lord, but no one knew who and no one knew what. _Harry Potter_ they whispered and it struck Draco how strange it was that they were all so scared. The boy was just that. A boy. He wanted to shout it at them, but then he'd remember the dreams he had and how Potter's eyes glowed like _Avada Kedavra_ in the night. He was afraid too.

And then he heard it.

A prisoner. She had tried to kill Nagini. No one knew why but they knew the Dark Lord had never been that angry. And emergency meeting and they were led to an underground tunnel with cages lining the walls. Inside one of them a figure slept.

Draco's heart stopped.

He had taken guard duty. He didn't know why. He was silenced, masked and stood in the corner of the room with nothing to do but watch her.

He watched as he tried singing. He watched her as she weakened with thirst and hunger, watched her as the drugs in her drink took hold and her perception slipped. He watched her fight and scream with herself, clawing and the bars and crying and crying and crying. She yelled for Potter and he didn't come. And for some reason that gave Draco a sick sense of satisfaction.

They were doing tests on her. On little Hermione Granger. He didn't know what and he didn't know why but he knew the Dark Lord was trying something that had never been tried before. Words like _resurrection _and _soul-stealing_ stuck in his mind and he began to know they had been right. He was a slave to a madman.

The tests had continued and she went further from reality. Her eyes glowed in the dark and when she passed out from dehydration they came and carved runes into her. They stole her memories, throwing them into a pensive and swirling them. Laughing at he love of Hogwarts, at her arguments with him and her fights for Potter. They laughed and he felt himself grow angry. But there was nothing he could do. And he knew it. So he let them in and locked the door after they left.

She had fallen to pieces after that. They'd come to her the next day and he thought she almost recognised him, behind his mask as they stood in a circle about their Lord. She had been told she was to 'make payment' for her crime. She had spat in the Dark Lord's face. Draco was almost proud of her stupidity. _Crucio_. She had screamed but he was used to the sound. They told her they were going to take her soul. Bit by bit. She would help the Dark Lord build up what he'd lost to Harry Potter and she would be responsible for the boy's downfall when his nemesis grew more powerful than ever before.

She was going to win them the war.

She'd cried at this. But there was nothing he could do.

* * *

Harry left the hospital with little thought spared for the nervous healer. He had walked quietly through the streets of London, savouring the peaceful buzz of traffic. A woman knocked into him and she ran for a bus and he smiled to himself as he didn't leap for his wand. The reflexes were wearing off. 

It had been four months since Voldemort had been defeated and Harry was beginning to realise that things _could _go back to normal. He had lunch at the Burrow every fortnight, he played quidditch with Ron and Ginny every Friday, he was holding talks with McGonagall over the re-opening of Hogwarts, and it looked as though he'd be able to take his final year a few years late. Him and Ginny were wavering on the brink of a relationship and Mrs Weasley left strategically placed bridal magazines all over the Burrow whenever he was due to visit. Ron was even beginning to date other girls, a year after Hermione's death and he'd realised it was time he moved on.

Things were _healing,_ he thought to himself. And it was about time, too.

* * *

Stirring in the starched linen sheets the boy's brow creased. 

Raphael lowered his wand and watched as his hands clenched and unclenched. The boy's mouth opened a fraction and out of it a hollow voice scratched.

"Hermione…" he had croaked.

The curse breaker stared.

* * *

**_If you've read it please review it. _**

**AN:** I doubt you'll read this, but thank you debarie for correcting my spelling.


End file.
